


one degree of separation

by princesskay



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Office Sex, Pining, Season/Series 01, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: When Holden has the "descriptors of the acts" removed from the list of deviant terminology, he starts to wonder what exactly he does or doesn't consider "deviant."
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Comments: 19
Kudos: 92





	one degree of separation

**Author's Note:**

> As someone living in the US, it was bound to happen at some point. I'm currently in quarantine (I was exposed to someone with covid, I'm fine myself) and I have some extra time to write. I was re-watching S1 and started missing those good ol' days of road school and their early relationship. I feel like this is a throwback to some of the stuff I used to write about them, and I enjoyed writing it a lot. I hope you enjoy it, too ❤

In the basement, there’s no windows hence no daylight to differentiate the time aside from a glance at his wristwatch. The maintenance crew had been slow to process their request for updated electrical work, and they are both working solely by the single, cylindrical bulbs of their desk lamps. 

Currently, Holden can only hear the groan of pipes and settling beams overhead like the plodding bowels of some great beast. Bill is sitting at the desk across from him, quiet except for the muted burn of his cigarette and slow exhale whenever he takes a drag. 

Holden taps the cool, metal clip of his pen against his mouth as he peeks across the room at his partner. He’d figured out early on that Bill doesn’t much care for empty conversation or small talk. If he has something important to say, he’ll say it, and he expects Holden’s responses to be concise and to-the-point. Don’t beat around the bush. 

Someone else might find it intimidating. Well, he might have at first. Not anymore. When you sit in the sunlight, you get used to the warmth and it stops being special. Besides, Bill’s attention doled out to him sparingly is probably for the best. He has a way of letting himself get carried away with his thoughts and impulses if left unchecked. 

Bill checks him. Constantly. 

As a result, Holden crafts a kind of essay in his mind before submitting his thoughts to Bill now lest he be checked too sternly. He likes for Bill to agree with him. It feels good when he gets the respectable backing of Bill’s seasoned opinion, not so good when his disapproval wedges like a fist in the pit of Holden’s belly. 

Bill’s gaze flicks over the rim of his reading glasses as if he can sense Holden staring. 

Holden looks back down at the list in front of him with pulse racing and his cheeks warming. 

Bill won’t give him a break by offering a conversation opener first. He looks back down at what he’s working on. 

Holden studies the words on the page harder.  _ Ass, asshole, anal violation, bitch, cock, cocksucker, cunnilingus-  _

Bill is from the era where this list of deviant terminology makes perfect sense. It’s okay to do these things behind closed doors; it isn’t okay to talk about them, especially in the presence of women.

Holden suddenly wonders about Bill’s opinion on  _ cunnilingus  _ and  _ fellatio.  _ Not his FBI agent, reputable opinion. His real, personal opinion. Is he the kind of person who gives as good as he gets? Nance probably didn’t have to teach him the way Debbie taught Holden. 

Holden tries to blink the intrusive thought from his mind, but it swims quick and slick with the current of his excessive contemplation, meeting up with the rest of the words on the page.  _ Anal violation, cocksucker, faggot.  _ No, stop. Those words can stay. 

Holden clears his throat. He should just get it out so he can stop thinking about it. Sometimes purging is the only way to clear his mind. Put these slimy, difficult things in someone else’s hands to grapple. 

Bill looks up again from his work. 

“I’ve been thinking-” Holden begins. 

“Uh-oh.”

Holden narrows his eyes, wondering why he’s so insistent on making himself an easy target for Bill’s needling. 

“About the list of deviant terminology.”

“What about it?”

“It’s a little outdated, don’t you think?”

He has Bill’s attention. Taking off his reading glasses, Bill puts his elbows on his desk, and leans forward to bore Holden with a querying gaze. 

“Outdated?”

“Yes.” Holden says, trying to sound firm. “For example,  _ masturbation  _ makes this list.”

“Okay…”

“Women and men everywhere masturbate. I don’t find anything deviant about that.”

Bill isn’t batting an eye at the word ‘masturbate.’ An agreement? 

Holden swallows hard, but his mouth feels dry. “And ... And  _ fellatio. _ These are just descriptors of the acts. They’re not cuss words.”

“What’s your point?” Bill asks, already sounding like he’s tired of the conversation. It always takes a little effort to make him buck against the institution. 

“The point is that they shouldn’t be on this list.” 

“You want to explain that to the dean of students at the Academy? You’re probably going to get some push-back.”

“But I think most people would agree with me. These students are legal adults for the most part. If anything, these terms should be in a sex education class in high school, not a list of ‘bad words’ in the FBI, for God’s sakes.”

“Well, Holden. I didn’t realize you were such a proponent for sex-ed in schools.” Bill says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his mouth. “Planning on teaching that class yourself?”

Holden blushes, hot. “No, I’m … No, actually my school had abstinence only literature so I’m not exactly qualified for …”

Bill’s smirk widens. 

Holden can tell he’s on the verge of thinking it, or God forbid, saying it - just like Ed did - and he continues hastily, “But I’m not a virgin. I know what these words mean, and how they feel and … I just don’t think they should be on the list.”

“Okay, I’ll humor you.” Bill says, spreading his hands like he’s doing Holden a favor rather than just enjoying watching him squirm. “Which words?”

“Like I said,  _ fellatio, cunnilingus, masturbate … _ ”

“Okay.”

“Obviously things like  _ cocksucker  _ and  _ anal violation  _ can stay.”

“Right. You wouldn’t know anything about how those ones feel,” Bill says, waving the hand with his cigarette so that smoke weaves through the air. 

“Fuck you.” Holden says, weakly, the only response he can come up with. 

Bill laughs. It sounds like a challenge.  _ Maybe you should try it.  _

Holden glances back down at the list. “So, you agree?”

“I agree, it’s a different time period. Most young ladies these days aren’t flinching at the idea of a blowjob. Giving or receiving.”

“Yes, exactly. People are getting more adventurous. You know, Ed Kemper asked me if I’d ever had anal sex with Debbie before.” Holden admits before he can tuck that thought away in the back of his mind. It’s purging itself, from his hands into Bill’s. 

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I know it’s deviance coming from a deviant’s mouth, but he said it so casually, as if everyone does it. Then he explained to me how easy it was.”

“Easy?”

“Yes, he said something like ‘an asshole is made to suck’.” 

“Jesus.” Bill says, making a face. 

“It all seems like varying degrees of separation to me.” Holden says, waving a hand at the list. “What certain people find offensive that others don’t. Some people have sex like that - all the time.”

“Yeah. Faggots.”

Holden bites his lower lip.  _ Faggot.  _ That word can stay. He’ll keep himself on the other side of the line, thank you very much. 

“But they don’t see it as deviant.” He says, softly. 

“Do you?” Bill asks, pointedly. 

Holden looks up from the words on the page, and Bill’s face is changed. Mocking replaced by curiosity. Holden can’t get his cheeks to stop burning. 

“I’m just saying, it’s a matter of perspective that  _ cocksucker  _ stays on the list while  _ fellatio  _ is worthy of being removed.”

Bill takes a drag of his cigarette in lieu of replying. A frown knits his brow. At length, he waves his hand like he doesn’t care, and puts his reading glasses back on. 

“Go to Marge if you want the list changed.” He says without looking up. “But don’t expect me to go with you - and please, don’t mention this conversation to anyone.”

“No problem.” 

For the next few days, Holden thinks about the discussion a lot. He thinks about it when he’s laying in bed next to Debbie after they just had sex.  _ Intercourse. Cunnilingus. Cocksucking.  _ In the middle of her sucking him off, he wonders if women really enjoy having a cock in their mouth or if it’s all just an act, a ploy to get a tongue in their pussy. Giving and receiving. Do gay men really like getting fucked in the asshole? Or is it the only hole they have so it’s the only option? Is it really that easy to get a cock in an asshole? 

With his eyes blinking up at the ceiling in the dark, he realizes that he hadn’t purged anything from his mind. He just made it all worse. 

He shouldn’t have asked Bill anything, or introduced his opinion into his thoughts. His seafoam gray eyes are crowded in with Debbie’s breathless moans when he’s licking her pussy, the gravelly baritone of his voice negotiating with the desires Holden has long pushed to the back of his mind, in a small, cramped closet with all the things the jocks in high school used to call him when they shoved him up against the lockers.  _ Faggot. Cocksucker. Cum-eater.  _

He rolls over restlessly in bed, and puts his back to Debbie as if she can hear the roar of his thoughts. Behind him, she doesn’t stir. 

*

After the Pinto smashes into them at the intersection in Richmond, they end up in a small hotel called the Baron Inn which isn’t entirely fit for a baron or any other type of royalty. Chintzy, scrolled window frames and trimming and a steeply peaked roof upholds the concept with sad hyperbole, followed closely by gaudy patterned duvets and wallpaper meant to be lavish. The window positioned between the two parallel beds, however, offers a nice view of green landscape with the interstate pushed off just far enough into the distance to be disregarded. 

Bill sets about complaining of the thin, scratchy sheets and the tiny soap bottles, swiftly gruff after having been vulnerable with Holden in the diner about his adopted son. 

Holden mutters his agreements. While Bill blusters into the bathroom to get a shower, he lays back against the sheets and stares at a crack in the crown moulding while his mind gets distracted with details aided by the sound of water hitting the shower base. The tiny soap bottle pouring out it's watered-down contents over Bill’s broad chest, his stomach, into the creases of his hips, his pubic hair, down lower … 

He presses his eyes shut, and tries to block out the thought of Bill’s fingers wrapping around the thick girth of his cock. If the bulky shape and broad width of Bill’s shoulders and hands, and the substantial frame of the rest of his body are any indicators, it must be big. Thick. Not monstrous like porno films, but big enough that Holden would probably choke on it trying to take the whole thing in his mouth- 

Holden’s eyes spring open to the popcorn ceiling of the hotel staring blandly, perhaps judgmentally back at him. His groin has a slight, aching heartbeat.  _ Jesus Christ.  _

He manages to get himself under control before Bill comes back out of the shower. 

“Water’s still warm.” Bill remarks as he sinks down to the bed and grabs the remote to watch some television. 

“Thanks.” Holden mutters. 

He goes into the bathroom to wash away the sweat and grime of the day. The interview with Monte seems very long ago now. When he stands under the water and tries to ignore the longing deep in his belly, his perspective shifts. Masturbating suddenly feels like the most devious act of all. 

He doesn’t do it, convinced of his shame. He waits until they get home to direct his needs toward Debbie. Pushing her up against the wall as soon as they get home, he tells her how much he wants her. She bends over the arm of the couch when he fucks her. It feels good, asserting his dominance when all he wants to do is submit on his knees. 

*

For the three days that they spend in Altoona, Holden lays in the hotel bed at night and stares through the darkness at Bill’s sleeping figure across from him. 

He remembers what Bill said about aberrations. If we understood them, we’d be aberrant, too. Holden thinks that Bill is an aberration in his mind. He doesn’t understand it, and he isn’t going to try. It’s some kind of sad self-soothing to blame the unaware object of his desires for his own thoughts. Like he isn’t really responsible. Bill is somehow making him think these things with his quiet stares, smoke-breathing lips, coarse hands, square jawline. 

It’s easier to project onto a flat, one-dimensional person, but it’s been several weeks since that conversation about deviant terminology. Now that they’ve been in the thick of investigation together, he thinks he knows Bill better. He has an adopted son who doesn’t talk, a wife who is cold to him, an unhappy marriage. It’s probably been a long time since he performed  _ cunnilingus  _ on Nancy. It’s probably been a long time since she performed  _ fellatio  _ on him. It’s missionary or nothing these days, once a week petering off to once a month, maybe less. If anything, they’re doing this to each other. 

Holden collects what Bill says about his personal life like the state quarters he used to collect as a kid. Each one is different, tells its own story. Creates a larger picture of the landscape. Where’s the rocky terrain, where’s the smooth? He doesn’t know what he’ll do once he has the full view. 

Back in the basement after Altoona, it’s late in the day. Wendy is back in Boston for the rest of the week. In the interim, the electricians finally made their way down here, halfway underground, but neither of them had bothered flipping the lightswitch. The desk lamps glow against the dark, illuminating the giant map of the United States peppered with red push-pins to indicate the locations of prospective interviews. 

Holden keeps staring at the lines between interstates, imagining another one hundred sad hotels like the Baron Inn, while Bill answers the ringing of his telephone. 

“Tench.” His voice immediately softens. “Oh, hi …”

Holden glances over at him, but Bill is already swiveling his chair away to give himself the illusion of privacy. Holden recognizes the “Nancy voice.” Bill uses it when he’s trying to talk her down from being mad with him. 

“No, I’m just finishing up …” Bill is saying, placating. “It’s a murder investigation, honey. There’s a lot of paperwork.”

Holden pretends to look down at the paperwork on his own desk, but he studies the hunch of Bill’s shoulders from his peripheral. 

Bill sighs and rubs his forehead. “I know, I know …”

Holden wishes he could hear the other side of the conversation. Is it getting derogatory?

“Don’t worry about it. I can pick something up on the way home if- … Okay, no that’s fine, too. Whatever you want.”

Holden swings his gaze back down to the paper when Bill turns back around to put the phone in its cradle none too gently. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, he leans to one side so that Bill can see his face around the desk lamp. 

“Do you want me to finish the reports?” He asks, quietly. 

“No.” 

Holden swallows hard. The curt response is packed with tension, anger, frustration.  _ Men in unhappy marriages tend to lash out.  _

“You should go home.” Holden presses, “Spend time with your wife.”

Bill casts him a disparaging gaze, as if the very prospect is revolting. 

“When’s the last time you spent time with her?”  _ When’s the last time you fucked her?  _

“Holden, don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t try to profile my marriage.”

“I don’t need to. You told Mark that marriage is like a contract, and you can’t leave.”

Bill’s gaze cuts away. 

“So if you can’t leave, shouldn’t you try to make it work?”

“You think I haven’t?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just never seen it-”

Bill starts up from his chair brusquely. The backs of his knees hit the seat, sending it rolling backwards. The plastic wheels rattle loudly in the hollow silence of the basement. He stands still, glaring at Holden with his hands fisted at his sides. 

“You’re just a kid so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” He says, low. “Marriage is just a concept to you, and it’s all rainbows and roses. You’re going to figure out pretty quickly that it isn’t. You make concessions who don’t want to, and compromises you never thought you’d make, over and over again. Pretty soon you’re giving away your own identity to appease someone else. Nothing matters except making that person happy. Not even your own happiness or enjoyment.”

Holden purses his lips, and offers an agreeable nod. He doesn’t want to start a fight. 

“Let me ask you this - what do you and Debbie do when you’re mad at each other?” Bill asks, waving an impatient hand. 

“I, uh …”

“Let me guess. There’s a little tension, distance. Eventually, there’s some rough sex and you move on.”

Holden blushes as the coarse words slide easily from Bill’s mouth to punch him in the gut. He hadn’t expected it. Maybe he’d built up this idea of Bill being a prude in his mind that never matched reality. 

“Right?” Bill pushes. 

Holden nods again. 

“That’s great when you’re twenty-something years old. It doesn’t last. You get past that stage once you’ve been unhappy for long enough. All you can do is sit on opposite sides of the house trying not to blow everything up.”

Holden tries to process this new information in silence. It’s mint-fresh, shining silver in his palm.  _ When’s the last time you fucked your wife? Weeks? Years?  _ It clicks in his mind. It makes sense. Bill doesn’t give as good as he gets because he doesn’t get anything. 

Bill is staring back at him. The mutual silence threatens to burst the seams of secrets. Weeks of tension unravel. It hits like a shot of whiskey. 

“You wanna help me?” Bill asks. Well, it could have been a plea. Or a demand. 

Holden keeps nodding, dumbly.  _ Of course I want to help you. You’re my partner.  _ No, too platonic.  _ Yeah, sure.  _ Flippant.  _ Yes, absolutely.  _ Eager. 

Instead, he says nothing at all. He waits until Bill raises a beckoning hand. 

“Come here.”

Holden gets up. His feet seem to move too slowly as he walks across the room to where Bill is waiting with his hands twitching impatiently at his sides. He stops in front of him, heart percussive in his chest, and lifts his chin. 

Bill’s gray eyes are an ocean storm dashed on rocks. He has the look of a man who knows what he’s about to do, but is past the point of caring. He pinches Holden’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, makes Holden look directly into his eyes and step a bit closer. 

“Look at me.” The order is superfluous, but it establishes dominance. 

Holden swallows thickly, breathes unsteadily through his nose. 

“I don’t need to tell you to never breathe a word of this to anyone, do I?” Bill asks. 

Holden shakes his head against Bill’s grip on his chin. 

“Out loud.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Good.”

Bill changes his grip from Holden’s chin to his nape. His hand is big and strong, cradling the back of Holden’s skull firmly and guiding him in. His eyes slip shut when their noses brush, but Holden keeps his own eyes wide open, cataloguing the details in between the scream of disbelief and exhilaration in his mind.

Bill’s mouth settles in one warm, abrasive stroke on Holden’s pliant, waiting lips before it softens, assured of Holden’s willingness. When Holden doesn’t try to pull away or protest, he shifts closer, and tilts Holden’s head slightly back so that his mouth is open underneath Bill’s gradual yet firm caress. 

A groan rises unbidden from Holden’s chest. He lifts his hands instinctively to grasp Bill’s chest, but thinks better of it. He ends up with his hands raised at shoulder height, wavering helplessly in the air while Bill kisses him, slowly, thoroughly, persistently.

God, it’s dizzying; he can feel himself losing his sense of gravity and balance, lost inside the warm, buzzing sensations of Bill’s mouth taking over his own, suction drawing his lower lip puffy and raw, the flick of tongue melting him. He can hear his own breathing rattling around inside his head, all rushed and fragmented, his pulse nearly drowning it out. 

It’s hard to focus on anything other than Bill’s mouth, but he tries to respond by kissing back. The paired, mutual caresses deepen. Bill’s hand presses to his lower back, pulling him closer. A slight jolt when they meet. The pressure of Bill’s expanding ribs crushing his own. 

Suddenly, they’re in motion. Holden still doesn’t try to grab on as Bill pushes him up against the desk, afraid any kind of move he makes will bring this tentative fulfillment of his desires to an end. He leans his backside against the desk for support, and lets his knees lapse open. Bill quickly fills the open space, hips hard against the soft, offered cradle, his cock hard against Holden’s. Jesus, his cock is so hard. 

Bill draws back, and Holden’s lower lip releases from his mouth with a wet smack. Their exhilarated panting humidly clouds the narrow space between them. 

Holden slowly opens his eyes to see Bill studying him intently from beneath a furrowed brow. He could have been angry. Holden knows he isn’t because his cock is throbbing. He tries to open his mouth to say something - a placation, an encouragement. 

He doesn’t get to make a noise before Bill grabs Holden by the hips to roughly turn him around. Holden is shoved back against the desk, this time facing the paperwork on Altoona spread out in neat piles. He braces his hands against the smooth surface as Bill plasters against him, breath hot on his neck, shuddering chest against his back, clothed erection to Holden’s ass. 

“Is this how you want to help me?” Bill asks, voice vibrating harsh, guttural tones in Holden’s ear. 

Holden bites his lip over a groan. He nods, eagerly. 

Bill’s hand snakes around his hip, over his belly. No gentility or finesse. When he gropes Holden’s erection through his pants, his hand is big, hard, rough. 

“Oh, Jesus …” Holden gasps, his knees going weak with need. 

He feels Bill’s cock twitch through layers of fabric against the cleft of his ass. Behind the squeeze of his eyelids, he sees himself bent over the desk, pants around his ankles. He sees Bill fucking him from behind, and he wants it. He wants it more than anything. 

“Like this?” Bill mutters even as he feels the responding jolt of Holden’s cock through his trousers. 

“Yes, please-” Holden pants, arching back against him. 

Bill’s fingers deftly locate his belt. The buckle rattles when he gets it open, and the zipper hisses open next. The pressure lets off Holden’s cock for a second before Bill’s hand slips inside to cradle him through his briefs. 

“Oh my God!” Holden cries. 

His voice echoes in the basement. Loud. Too fucking loud. 

Bill’s left hand reaches up to cover his mouth. His breath blasts hot against Holden’s ear as he whispers, “Quiet.”

Holden moans and nods against Bill’s hand on his mouth, but the grip doesn’t retreat. It stays there, muzzling his whimpers as he rubs Holden’s cock through his underwear and thrusts against Holden’s backside in a rutting, inadequate pantomime of sex. 

Holden presses his eyes shut as the tingling pressure of arousal mounts in his groin. He feels close to the edge already. Bill hasn’t touched his bare skin. God, he’s desperate. 

“Bill,” He groans, his voice muffled in Bill’s palm. 

Bill eases his grip off Holden’s mouth, allowing him to suck in a shaky breath. 

“How’s that? Hmm?” He mutters, working Holden’s cock raw with the cotton of his briefs. 

“I’m gonna cum,” Holden whispers, his cheeks scalding hot. 

Bill slows his caress down to a few squeezing strokes before letting go entirely. The sudden lack of friction makes Holden’s groin ache and pulse dully. 

“No, you’re not.” Bill says, raspy and thick with promise. 

“But I-”

Bill pulls him back around before Holden can finish the protest. He clutches Holden’s jaw in his hand, and pushes his thumb across Holden’s lower lip. His eyes are trained on Holden’s mouth. 

Choking on a groan, Holden opens his mouth to Bill’s nudging. 

“No one ever taught you how to suck a cock, did they?”

Holden shakes his head. He can’t verbally reply because Bill’s thumb is coarsely stroking his lips, smearing saliva and a burning friction all over his mouth. As it makes a complete circuit to the middle of his lower lip, it slips inside, past his teeth. 

“But you can learn, hm?” Bill murmurs, his eyes hazy with desire. 

Holden nods. Grunts something of an  _ uh-huh  _ from the back of his throat. 

“You want to?” 

Holden closes his eyes.  _ Cocksucker. Yes, I’m a cocksucker. I’m your cocksucker.  _

“Hmm?” Bill presses, thumb gliding across Holden’s slick, quivering tongue. 

Holden clamps his mouth shut around it. Sucks. 

Bill grunts a sound of satisfaction. “That a yes?”

Holden opens his eyes again, pushing past shame into determination. He tilts his head back so that he can suck off of Bill’s thumb and speak. 

“Yes.” It emerges mangled and raspy from his throat. 

Grasping his nape, Bill leads him from the desk. “C’mere.” 

Bill doesn’t need to tell him. Holden goes willingly, stumbling only slightly on his wobbling knees until they reach Bill’s chair which had drifted a few feet away. Bill grabs the arm of it to pull it underneath him, and sits down. He pulls Holden down with him, down to his knees on the cold, cement floor. 

Holden bites back a wince, but quickly forgets the ache in his knees. Bill is unbuckling his belt, and he focuses on Bill’s hands. They’re trembling just a little bit, over-eagerness and nerves. So much desire. Holden wonders when was the last time he came. This could be short-lived. A part of him likes that idea, another part rejects it because this might be his only chance to know what it’s like to have Bill’s cock in his mouth. He has no prediction for the future beyond this moment. 

Dragging the zipper open, Bill beckons Holden closer. Underneath his black trousers, his boxers are blue with white pinstripes. The swollen shape of his cock is apparent through the thin fabric. 

“Here, take this off.” Bill suggests loosening Holden’s tie. 

Holden meets Bill’s gaze by accident when he lifts his chin to pull the tie off. The reality of what he’s doing strikes him, but he can’t feel guilt or shame. It’s what he’s wanted for too long. Bill looks like he feels the same way. 

As Holden discards the tie, Bill opens the top two buttons of his shirt. 

“That’s better,” He says, the back of his knuckles stroking down Holden’s exposed, flushed throat. 

Holden swallows hard, and licks his lips. He sets his hands hesitantly on Bill’s knees. 

“Okay…” He whispers, his voice intruding into the taut silence. “Show me.”

Bill’s mouth tugs at one side. He cradles Holden’s cheek, his hand much gentler now, and leads him forward. He nods down at his crotch where his boxers still conceal his cock. 

“Go on.” He mutters, “Get it out.”

Holden flushes with nerves and excitement. He tries not to let his hand tremble as he moves it hesitantly up Bill’s thigh, and pushes aside the open fly of his pants. He doesn’t look up, but he can feel Bill’s gaze on his face, reading his reactions when he locates the slit at the front of the boxers. 

Heat emanates from within, inviting his seeking fingers. He reaches blindly, grazes his fingertips over soft flesh stretched taut over pulsing veins, wiry hair, the crease at the top of his testicles. 

Bill mutters a choked grunt, and shifts his hips impatiently in the chair.  _ Hurry up.  _

Holden traces his fingers up the length, finding all of him. It reaches up in a nice curve, thick all the way through, flaring at the head. Securing his fingers around the middle, Holden draws it from its confines into his view, and almost chokes on a startled groan. Despite his expectations, it’s big in his hand, bigger than he thinks his unskilled mouth can handle. Adjusting his grip, he gets a better handle on it with his fingers wrapped fully around the girth, and feels it pulse beastly with desire in his fist. 

He must be staring too long open-mouthed because Bill manages to swallow down his groans and expel a breathless laugh. 

“More than you bargained for?”

Holden’s gaze snaps up to meet Bill’s. His first instinct is to make some unfounded claim that he can handle whatever Bill gives him; but maybe that’s just stupid, so he just shakes his head. 

“Good.” Bill says, guiding Holden’s head forward. “Open your mouth.”

Holden obeys. He keeps his eyes open as he gets closer to Bill’s cock wrapped up in his fist. The tip is swollen and pink, leaking clear juices from the tip; he can smell its heady, distinct scent. 

“Relax your jaw and lips.” Bill says, softly from above just like he’s instructing a road school class. “Breathe through your nose. Don’t choke yourself.”

Holden would have rolled his eyes in any other scenario.  _ Don’t choke yourself. Jesus, Bill, don’t be so full of yourself. I can handle this.  _ But he doesn’t know yet if he can, so he doesn’t try to be tart. 

He submits to Bill’s hand on the back of his neck, and takes Bill’s cock in his mouth. It slides in hot and dry, but when Holden’s lips close around it, some kind of automatic, biological response happens. Holden feels the rush of saliva from the back of his tongue. Gives a whole other meaning to  _ mouth-watering.  _ In an instant, there’s a lot of spit in his mouth, and when he bobs his head experimentally, Bill’s cock glides easily along his tongue. 

He remembers what Bill said about relaxing his jaw. Light pressure is probably good, he thinks. Not too hard yet. Ride it like a wet pussy.

Is that what Bill is thinking about? Pussy. Maybe.

Holden hesitantly opens his eyes, and peeks up. He’s surprised to see Bill watching him, his eyes half-open with mounting lust and pleasure but looking at him nonetheless. Not looking away, not shut. Looking at him. Looking at Holden suck his cock. 

Emboldened, Holden meets the burning stare, and moves his mouth a little faster. Up and down, in and out. It gets easier with every stroke. It felt awkward at first trying to get as much of it in his mouth as possible, but with his fist wrapped around the root, the wet heat and friction at the top is good enough. 

Bill groans and sighs, all good signs pointing toward satisfaction. His hand never strays from the back of Holden’s head, fingers lacing and clenching in his hair, but he doesn’t pull or push. He’s mostly letting Holden handle the pace and depth. It must not be the worst blowjob he’s ever received. 

Holden almost lets his grip at the bottom of Bill’s cock lapse as he gets distracted with the self-flattering thought. Bill grunts and shifts down against the fleeting caress, reminding Holden to keep the pressure tight, slightly jerking. The mechanics are important. Relax your jaw, but not too much. Suck with your lips and tongue. Breathe through your nose. Jerk with your hand. Keep the pace steady but not too fast - that’s for the end, the final stretch. This rhythm can’t burn itself out too quickly; he’s enjoying the taste of Bill’s cock in his mouth, the slight ache in his jaw as it stretches open to accommodate. 

“Oh, fuck …” Bill groans as Holden pulls back to the tip and swirls his tongue around the head from inside his mouth. 

Holden watches his face grimace and flush. Repeats the circular stroke. 

“Fuck, Holden-” Bill whispers, his spine arching. He clutches harder at Holden’s hair. “Whoa, whoa-”

Holden pulls back, letting the tip pop free of his mouth all shiny and pink with saliva and arousal. He pants hot breath across it. 

“What?” He asks, his voice coming out all mangled and high-pitched from friction. “Not good?”

“No,” Bill says, his brow creased with a frown and his eyes pressed shut as he breathes out slowly. “The opposite.”

Holden bites his lower lip over a smile. “It really has been awhile, hasn’t it?”

Bill opens his eyes. “Shut up,” He says, derisively, despite the smile tugging at his mouth. 

Holden licks his tingling lips, and bends forward again. Massaging Bill’s cock from the root upward, he directs the tip to his mouth and smears his tongue across the leaking slit and around the swollen glans. 

Bill groans, fist tightening in Holden’s hair. It makes Holden’s belly leap with need. 

After a few more lavish strokes of his tongue, he sucks Bill’s cock back into his mouth. He starts at a languid pace, running his lips up and down the shaft on the sloppy glaze of saliva, sucking harder at the head until it almost pops free before going back down again. Slow pressure, off and on. Not too hard, not too soft. Just the way Debbie does. 

Bill’s fingers card desperately through his hair, following Holden’s bobbing rhythm but not attempting to control it. His feet shuffle against the bare cement as he braces himself, both straining toward the pleasure Holden’s mouth slowly curates and resisting the swift tumble in orgasm - the end of this unplanned tryst. 

“Oh, fuck …” He groans, stiffening against Holden’s mouth. “Oh, just like that…”

Holden groans a response that ripples through Bill’s cock in his mouth and vibrates past his nostrils. He slips his eyes open again to monitor Bill’s position on the brink of pleasure. He wants to ask how it is just to hear Bill say it, but he doesn’t want to let Bill’s cock out of his mouth either. He’s starting to appreciate it rubbing his lips raw and hitting his hard palate with its full hardness and blunt need. 

“Fuck. Hold on, hold on.” Bill whispers, dragging Holden’s mouth away. 

Holden releases him with a petulant moan of protest. “What?”

“Fuck.” Bill repeats, pressing one hand over his face. “I’m so close.”

“Then let me finish it.” Holden says, leaning forward again. 

Bill holds him fiercely by the hair, and curls his fingers away from his eyes so that he can squint down at Holden with pained desire in his eyes. “Wait just a minute.”

Holden breathes slowly through his nose as his heart races. He reads the minute twitches on Bill’s face, the desires in his eyes, the longing in the quiver of his body. His cock is angry red in Holden’s fist, demanding to be satisfied, and just the slightest jerk of Holden’s hand makes him tremble. 

“Come on, Bill,” Holden murmurs, rubbing his cheek affectionately against the forearm of Bill’s hand tangled in his hair. “I want to see you cum.”

Bill’s eyelids flutter open again, taking in Holden’s statement with flushing cheeks. There. He’s definitely not thinking of pussy anymore. No ignoring that this is solely about them. 

“Okay, grab some tissues.” Bill says, motioning to the desk. Holden hesitates, and he scoffs sardonically, “Unless you want to swallow.”

“No, um … that’s okay.” Holden says, feeling his own cheeks grow hot again. 

Bill lets go of his hair just long enough for Holden to crawl over and grab a handful of tissues from the desk drawer. When he comes back, the hand settles into his hair, and pulls him down again. 

Holding the tissues in one hand, Holden grips the root of Bill’s cock with the other, and puts it back in his mouth. He relaxes his lips and jaw at first, allowing Bill’s cock to rock deep into his mouth and elicit a gush of saliva. When there’s generous spit dripping down the shaft, he tightens his cheeks, and bobs his head faster. 

It doesn’t take much. Bill, already on the verge, stiffens beneath the swift ministrations after the first few seconds, and starts to pant heavily through his nose in a way that tells Holden he’s close. He grips harder at Holden’s hair, guiding the rhythm faster, harder. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck-” He groans, breathlessly. “That’s it, Holden; that’s it-”

Holden thrills at the praise. He wants desperately to look up into Bill’s face, but he has to keep his focus. Tip Bill right over the edge. Make him cum. So fucking hard. Like he hasn’t cum in ages. 

Bill’s groans dwindle away into stifled silence. He’s almost perfectly still beneath Holden’s mouth except for a few minute shivers right before it erupts. 

“I’m coming-” He chokes out, yanking Holden by the hair. 

Holden leans back, dizzy and breathless from the rapid pace. He fumbles to get the wad of tissues over Bill’s cock just before wet, hot release jets from the slit. 

Bill’s fists are white-knuckled around the arms of the chair as he orgasms. His head tilts back to expose his flushed throat pulsing with the thick line of carotid, and his teeth bare at the ceiling in a forceful clench to keep the loud groans from spilling out into the basement. His hips jerk up to meet Holden’s fist wrapped around the root, milking it steadily out of him, elongating the protracted shudders of pent-up need. 

Holden doesn’t stop squeezing and stroking until Bill goes limp in the chair, and he feels his cock begin to soften. The tissues caught most of the release. He carefully peels it away, leaving behind a little glaze of moisture at the wilting tip. Tossing the wad into the wastebasket, he grabs a few more tissues and divides them between Bill’s lap and himself. 

They’re quiet as they both clean away the remnants of release. 

Holden focuses on the blemishes in the cement floor. His head is spinning trying to gather and synthesize all the details of this encounter. The hardest part to accept as real is that Bill wanted him. Holden had been pining away for months, thinking it would never happen. But it just did. 

Bill tucks his boxers back in place, and fastens his pants. The belt buckle makes a little clinking sound as he loops it taut. 

Holden looks up from the floor. He wants to ask:  _ now what?  _ But Bill’s head is probably spinning just as fast as his own. 

Bill leans forward to brace his elbows against his knees. He rubs a hand over his face, and suppresses a sigh. 

“Jesus, that was …” 

Holden twists his hands in his lap, his nerves twitching.  _ Good? Amazing? Incredible? _

Bill drags his hand over his mouth, and a bewildered smile emerges. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.”  _ I’ve just thought about it every day since I met you.  _

Bill pushes up from his knees, and waves for Holden to come back to him. 

Holden shuffles on his knees across the two feet of distance until he reaches Bill’s outstretched hand. His pants are still open, sagging around his hips. His cock fights against his boxers, incredibly hard. 

Bill grasps Holden’s cheek, and kisses him softly on the mouth. It’s not nearly as aggressive as the first kiss, and it lacks any kind of anger. This must be the core of the man, Holden thinks. Beyond the façade of masculine gruffness and prickly armor, beyond the bitterness and unhappiness. A hard man on the outside, soft like jelly on the inside. 

“You must be pretty hard,” Bill murmurs when their mouths separate. 

Holden opens his eyes, reeling. He can’t think of a sassy reply, just a plaintive plea:  _ Do you want me to beg you? I’ll do it.  _

Bill, however, isn’t interested in further delays. His hand slips down Holden’s pants again as he whispers low and raspy, “C’mere, let me see.”

Holden whimpers at the graze of Bill’s hand over his cock, separated by his briefs. He shifts closer on his knees, and rocks his hips into Bill’s touch. 

“Fuck, that’s good.” Bill says, smoothing his palm all the way down Holden’s erection. 

“Ohh,” Holden moans, head sinking down toward Bill’s shoulder. 

Bill’s breath is steady and warm in his ear as he slips his hand beneath Holden’s underwear to find his bare cock hard, twitching, and weeping. 

Holden isn’t afraid of grabbing onto Bill’s anymore as he buries his face in Bill’s shoulder to smother his groan, and clutches at his chest. 

He’s solid and warm, smells of aftershave and the ash of cigarettes. Holden quietly wishes they were in bed so that he could feel that weight on top of him, bare skin to bare skin, the smell of him inescapable and burnt like sage into his bedsheets; but they’re here, in the BSU basement, and Bill is standing up. Holden has no choice but to go with him, desperate to keep the firm, calloused grip of Bill’s hand on his cock.

Turning them around, Bill deposits Holden into the chair. He sinks down, grimacing only a little when his knees meet with the hard floor. He eases Holden from his chest, urging him to lean back comfortably in the chair. 

Holden stares down at him, mouth stuck half open. 

_ So do you give as good as you get, Mr. G-man? Do you suck cock like it’s your job, Agent Tench?  _

Bill’s next actions are swift and deliberate, answering in silence. He doesn’t use the opening in the front of Holden’s briefs. He pulls the underwear from Holden’s hips so that his cock is free, and his trousers are bunched at the very tops of his thighs. He moves the hem of Holden’s shirt out of the way, halfway up his belly.

In the cool basement air, their work environment and talk of serial murders floating around them, Holden’s cock is bare and throbbing, exposed, obscene. Bill's hand is tanned and coarse around it. It’s the hand of a man - a real man. And all of Holden’s presuppositions shatter. 

Bill leans down, and takes Holden’s cock in his mouth. 

“Oh, God!” Holden cries, seizing up against the swift, wet heat of Bill’s mouth applying divine pressure. He immediately claps a hand over his mouth, smothering the next elated moan as his cock goes deeper, down to the back of Bill’s tongue. 

Panting hard through his nostrils, Holden forces his eyelids open to look down at Bill’s head moving over his groin. Beyond the roar in his own mind, he can hear the wet squelch of his cock fucking Bill’s mouth and the muffled grunts from Bill’s throat. Each detail is its own thrill, a texture and sound that even his fantasies couldn’t have fabricated. 

Bill moves quickly, not giving Holden the chance to stave off release the way he had. No, he’s in complete control as he had been from the beginning; he only  _ let  _ Holden think he was holding the reins for ten minutes. It’s all over now; Holden is finished, destroyed. He’s fragmenting away into pleasure, slipping boneless and shuddering over the edge. It’s so close that his groin aches with such intense arousal that he thinks it might cave to the pressure. 

He grabs for Bill’s hair, but Bill is abruptly leaning back. 

Holden moans in protest, and opens hazy eyes to glimpse his cock in Bill’s big, strong fist, dribbling pre-cum.

“You about to cum?” Bill asks. 

Holden's face burns, and his mouth moves wordlessly for a moment. 

“You better tell me,” Bill says, reaching into the drawer for another handful of tissues. “I don’t want a cumshot down my throat.”

“Okay,” Holden says, pressing both hands over his face. He wishes he hadn’t teased Bill about it being a long time; it hasn’t been a long time for him at all, and he’s still about to shoot off instantly like an eighth-grader. 

Bill’s mouth takes him in again. God, he’s unrelenting. The taut pressure of his mouth is just about perfect, the gush of saliva making sure nothing is raw, that it feels so fucking good. 

“Oh my God, yes…” Holden moans, his back arching up from the chair as the first wave of signaling tingles washes through him. 

Bill groans a response from below, and slides into a faster rhythm. He’s going deep every time, hitting Holden’s cockhead off the back of his palate; but he’s smooth, doesn’t choke. It pushes Holden right up to the edge so quickly that he finds it hard to breathe. 

“Oh fuck, I’m coming.” Holden spits out just as he feels the spasms lay hold deep in his belly. 

Bill leans back, but Holden doesn’t get to see his face watching Holden’s face. His eyes slam shut over a white burst of pleasure that blinds him for the next twenty seconds of forceful orgasm. He releases into the tissues pressed to the head as the rolling waves of pleasure quake and clamp every muscle taut, and squeeze every last drop from him until he’s dry and shuddering. 

He comes out on the other side breathless, ears buzzing, cock smarting with sensitized satisfaction. He’s slumped down in the chair, and when his eyes crawl open, the ceiling overhead is drifting.

Bill discards the used tissues, and hands him a few more to finish cleaning up. He rises to his feet while Holden dabs away the remaining release. Grabbing his cigarettes from the desk, he presses one to his mouth. His thumb trembles when he strikes the lighter, twice to get it going. 

Holden climbs to his feet to find his knees weak and trembling. He fastens his pants, and bends over to pick up his tie from the floor. Dusting it off, he slips it back over his collar. 

The basement is quiet. Too quiet. 

Bill smokes feverishly. 

“So …” Holden says, clearing his throat. “Did I … um,  _ help  _ you?”

Bill scoffs a laugh. “Yeah, I’d … I’d say so.”

Holden buttons his collar, and pulls his tie taut. Climbing back inside his heterosexual persona. Bill carries his like chain mail now, ungainly and conspicuous. 

“Is that all it was?” Holden asks. 

Bill turns to look at him, smoke clouding his face. He suddenly looks tired. 

“Yeah, Holden. There’s a reason ‘cocksucker’ stays on that list.”

Holden lowers his chin. “That list may work for the Academy, but in my opinion, it’s still outdated.”

“What do you want next? A lesson in ‘anal violation’?”

Holden’s eyes snap up again. There’s no hint of amusement on Bill’s face. What if he said yes?

“Okay …” Bill says, more softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “This isn’t your fault, it’s mine.”

“It’s both our faults.”

Bill sighs. “Yeah.” 

Holden hesitates a moment before stepping closer to him, and putting a hand on his chest. Underneath, his heart is still pounding. 

“It just didn’t feel deviant to me. Did it to you?”

Bill gazes down at him, a strange look on his face. Trapped somewhere between complacency and resistance. Then one seems to win out over the other as he bends to kiss Holden on the mouth. 

Holden utters a sound of surprise, but leans into it. 

Bill’s hand cradles his lower back, and pulls him in closer. His mouth is smoky from his cigarette, but warm with a dangerous passion. There’s a kind of desperation in it. 

Holden thinks of Bill then in another nondescript hotel room five years before they ever met, sitting naked in bed with another man, both of them wilting in the aftermath. What did that other man say to him?  _ Cocksucker. Faggot. We should both be ashamed of ourselves. Go back to your wife and I’ll go back to mine.  _ He’s met the cops in road school. Self-assured, heterosexual men, too devoted to their guns, dragging about the weight of their masculinity in a defense against stigma or even the presumption of it. Boys don’t cry. Men don’t suck cocks. None of them would have been kind. 

When Bill draws back, he doesn’t say anything, but Holden sees confirmation in his eyes. What other man has committed this supposed act of deviancy with him and remained unrepentant about it? 

Holden refuses to be repentant about anything, least of all something he enjoyed so thoroughly. The faded voices of high school bullies only serve to embolden him to that conviction now. They were right, but they were also very wrong. 

“I’ll finish the reports.” Holden says, finally. 

Bill doesn’t argue this time. He tidies his desk, and puts on his jacket. Pausing by the door, he casts Holden a faint smile. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

The heavy metal door slams shut on Bill’s heels. 

Holden is alone in the basement, listening to the groans of the building squatted on top of them, and the quiet tick of the clock on the wall. Bill’s taste stays on his lips as he wanders over to the map of the United States that projects their possible interviews. Miles of interstate, countless hotel rooms. A hundred opportunities. A light shining ahead into the darkness. 


End file.
